1992 Chevrolet Caprice
Chevrolet Caprice: A discarded memento left behind during the enthusiastic dot-com white-flight of the late '90s. Gaze upon it! See it one last time before "donkification" takes hold. The Caprice is a hold-out for mall-walkers. They shuffle, arm-in-arm, staunchly defiant against a mutant world which, in their eyes, is changing for the worse. Transcript Chevrolet Caprice: The car that comes off the line smelling like moth balls and super poly-grip. --- INTRO 'SONG' by THE ROMAN (unintelligible) …regular car review. --- MONOLOGUE by MR. REGULAR This car won Car of the Year. The Caprice gets its name not from the capricious mindset of the cut throat greed-is-good business ethics of 1980s enterprise, but from a high priced Manhattan restaurant frequented by Chevy general sales manager Bob Lund. Now, you could forgive one for thinking that by 'restaurant' you actually meant 'mistress of the night' given the lounge lizard aesthetic of the burgundy interior, but that's a bit unfair since it's hard to really judge a car without placing oneself within the context of it's period. The early 90s saw an economic recession not all that different from the one we've been putting up with for the past six years., as the black Monday stock collapsed in October of 1987 led to the crippling of savings and loan industry, the effects of which were still felt well into the early 90s. The America of 1991 was a nation of given to mistrust of its government to skepticism about the honesty of corporate interest. Name brand cereals stayed on the shelfs at Sure Finds everywhere. And Wawa parking lots looked like Nissan stands and showrooms. But now, here's the Chevrolet Caprice, and suddenly, America was reminded that they needed to spend money to make money. The only way out of this hole was to climb out on a pile of wasted income. And the Caprice offered the very opportunity people wanted, or excuse they needed to go nuts with the checkbook, in opposition to all forms of sober financial judgement. Having come after the end of the power broking, cut throat capitalism of 1980s, the fourth generation Caprice was a cold shower shrinking the raging boner of enterprise. It looked like a car for successful businessmen, but it was mostly just a car that reinforced middle management pretensions about success. The Caprice is really Tony Montana's mountain of blow on wheels. The Chevy Caprice is the official car of the LA Riots and drug deals gone sideways. It looks like excess and it steers like your college girlfriend. The off white paint is not unlike the yellowed tooth enamel worn down by a lifetime of a treat soda. It's simultaneously fashionable and antiquated, just like Jackie-O's pill box hat or excessive public hair. The interior is overly dressy like a kid made to parade around the living room in his easter outfit for visiting relatives. (laughing) It's the car you get for winning the Showcase Showdown. What else was going on in 91? (I mean 1992). Snapple was popular, and Friends Don't Let Friends Drive Drunk—that slogan first appeared. The Pittsburg Penguins were the NHL champions; uh, Chicago Bulls were the NBA champs, AGAIN. Eh, who cares about the Redskins (super-copyrighted name)? This 92 Chevrolet Caprice is all dented up on one side, and this came from an involuntary off-road extravaganza spear headed by an opposing driver challenging the authority of double yellow lines. This is the fourth generation Caprice, and the last of this body shape. What's a Donk? The owner of this Caprice had and will be approached by largish men who want to buy it off him on the spot. And why not? This Caprice is the perfect used car. The engine is flawless and the body is derelict. You see this rear wheels here? How the body sorta comes down overtop them? Those are called skirted rear wheels. Skirted rear wheels (chuckle) that was a tongue twister… Skirted rear wheels were fashionable in the 1950s, and sort of the 60s as well. It's supposed to look futuristic, but it's the 1950s idea of the future. When you put skirted rear wheels on a 1990s car, all you're doing is saying to the world that you want whitey back on the Moon. But as I continue to look at this Caprice, I'm getting paranoid because I know a little about what was going on with the fourth gen. And when you look at this car in total, you begin to see the gravestone helicopters who want to drive Caprices because they are big like Warren Buffet's portfolio, and Buffet is an elderly man who is still useful. Still useful, just like the Caprice; these mobile Rite-Aids migrate from places like Camp Hill and North Penn to warmer, welcoming climates; but for a few, no escape is financially feasible. The sticklers to Pennsylvania climate are the dangerous ones. A Caprice loose in the wild in the winter months is a nuisance. Depending on the occupant, the arrival of a Chevrolet Caprice will likely be followed by a rusted skateboard fearing voice timbering from a half open driver's window: "I'm calling the law!" The occupant of the Caprice will stare at you and your deck; he, or on some days, she, will massage the wooden handgrip of the well-oiled, Colt-Woodsman 22 caliber target pistol; the half slide and feather trigger pole being the only objects aside from the Caprice itself, over which the driver's tablecloth hands still have authority. 40 years stretch between your Vans and the front bumper of this Caprice; the driver feels each one like bounced checks on Christmas morning. But one citizen's arrest, yes, one citizen's arrest will bring all those wasted years back. But it's 7:30 and the wheel is on. Another day, yes, yes, another day. You want specifications? Fine, it's a V8 and it could be anywhere from 4.3 liters to 5.7 liters. It doesn't matter, I'm throwing this notebook on the floor. There, you can hear it. The engine of this car doesn't matter; much like the Fiat, the whole point of an American V8 is just to be smooth. That's all. 1992 Chevy Caprice: The official car for driving to the gym and parading around the locker room and never getting dressed after you work out. Just constant old man junk flopping around, never getting dressed, never getting dressed, talking about the Penguins, talking about the Phillies, never getting dressed, ALL I CAN DO IS AVERT MY EYES FROM THE PENIS PETTING ZOO OF 50 AND 60 YEAR OLDS. Category:YouTube Partner Category:Reviews